Or not. Hard to tell what she might do.
“We’ll figure it all out tomorrow,” Rosetta assured the young woman. “Sleep tight, Leola.”
Her thin face lit up. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” she said quickly. Then her brow furrowed. “Monroe went home, but he’ll be here tomorrow, jah?”
“He will,” Rosetta assured her.
Leola nodded absently. She went to the bed to pick up the nightgown Rosetta had helped her unpack.
Rosetta closed the door and descended the narrow back staircase. The aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches lingered in the air—Leola’s choice for supper, which Rosetta, Christine and her girls, and the Kuhns had all eaten, as well, because they had no wedding leftovers. The ladies were still at the table, talking softly among themselves as they nibbled cookies with their tea and hot chocolate.
Ruby looked up when Rosetta poured hot water from the teakettle into a mug. “She’s going to bed? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
Rosetta sat down. “I suspect she’s more tired than she wants to admit—like a child who’s worn out but doesn’t want to miss anything. And who knows how long she’ll stay asleep?”
“If we hear her moving around in the night, we should probably check on her,” Phoebe suggested. “She’s in strange surroundings, and we don’t want her falling down the stairs if she’s sleepwalking.”
“Don’t want her prowling around in our rooms, either,” Laura murmured. “Is it me, or is Leola a little creepy, the way she clings to Bishop Monroe and says he ruined her? My word, he’s old enough to be her dat,” she added with a disgusted frown.
Rosetta nodded, along with the other women at the table. Until Leola became familiar with the lodge and the women who lived there, she fully anticipated some emotional confrontations with the newcomer—in the night, or whenever Monroe wasn’t around to talk her down with his gentle patience.
“Monroe mentioned some medications,” Christine put in. “Did you find any when you helped her unpack?”
“Nope. And it’s anybody’s guess what she’s supposed to be taking.” Rosetta took her seat at the small table in the kitchen. “One minute she seems about ten years old, and the next thing you know she’s declaring that Monroe should marry her.”
“Just my guess,” Beulah murmured as she reached for a cookie, “but there’s something not quite right about Leola. She looks perfectly normal, yet—”
The phone on the back wall rang, so Rosetta rose to answer it. Who would be calling? Nearly everyone they knew had been here for the wedding, and the Coldstream folks, who’d left a couple of hours ago, wouldn’t be home yet. The newlyweds and other Promise Lodge residents had left, as well—and she hoped the ringing of the phone wouldn’t bring Leola out of her room. Their guest was fascinated by the fact that the bishop allowed them to have a phone in the lodge rather than a shanty at the roadside, because so many lodge residents and businesses shared it.
“Jah, hello?” she said, thinking it might be a potential renter. “This is Promise Lodge and I’m Rosetta. How can I help you?”
“Hi, it’s Maria Zehr! I’ve decided I’d like to live in that apartment one of your sisters just left,” she replied excitedly. “What will the rent for that one be?”
Rosetta swallowed hard. Mattie’s apartment was between hers and Christine’s, which meant Truman’s special friend would be living right next door to her. Because this situation would require extreme patience and goodwill on her part, Rosetta decided to be more businesslike with her new renter. “I charge two hundred a month. For you to move in, I require the first and last month’s rent as well as one month’s rent as a security deposit.”
“Oh.” There was a pause before Maria continued. “What’s the deposit for? Most folks I know don’t require one.”
Rosetta knew better, because she’d read an article in the Forest Grove paper about covering unexpected expenses or damages a renter might incur. “Well, for one thing, it’ll go toward some food—because we lodge ladies all chip in on our meals,” she replied. “And it will go toward any painting and fixing up you might want done, as well as any furnishings you might need. When you move out and the apartment is left clean and in gut repair, you’ll get some of that deposit back.”
“Ah. Maybe I should get a deposit from the folks who’ll be renting my house,” Maria mused aloud. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be bringing my own bedding and some furniture, but since your bishop and Preacher Amos said they would do any painting and changes I’d like right away—and I’m sure Truman will help—I thought I’d give you my list. Got a pencil and paper?”
Rosetta’s eyebrows rose as she grabbed the scratch pad on which they kept their grocery list. Would Maria expect everyone to jump through hoops when she moved to Promise Lodge? Or was Rosetta just irritated because Maria assumed Truman would be at her beck and call, as well? “Jah, I’m ready,” she muttered, her pencil poised.
Ready to set you straight, blondie, she thought before she could catch her uncharitable thoughts.
“I’d like the bedroom painted delphinium blue—even the ceiling,” Maria began, “and I want fluffy white clouds painted on the ceiling and the upper parts of the walls, so I’ll feel like I’m surrounded by blue sky and sunshine—or up in Heaven!” she added dreamily. “Let’s paint the bathroom petal pink and the sitting room a deeper pink—like raspberry—on the lower walls and have the color gradually lighten to petal pink and then white on the ceiling.”
Rosetta bit back a retort as she scribbled these instructions. She was glad she’d asked for a deposit, because it seemed only fair that Amos and Monroe should be paid for the additional work Maria was requesting. “Anything else?” she asked with great restraint. “The furniture you saw belongs to my sister Mattie, but she’s willing to let our residents use it. We can put it in our unoccupied rooms if you have your own furnishings.”
“Put it somewhere else,” Maria said. “I’m making a fresh start with my bakery, so I’m going to splurge on a new couch and a rug and some upholstered chairs. Just have Truman and the guys shift everything out before they paint.”
Truman and the guys? You’re lucky you’re talking to me instead of to our men, missy.
Rosetta cleared her throat, reminding herself to remain patient. “Anything else?”
“That about does it—I’ll call if I think of anything,” Maria replied breezily.
“When do you figure to move in? I’d like to give Amos and Monroe a heads-up—”
“Oh, I forgot to say! My renters want my house cleared out so they can fix it up a bit and move in by February first,” she said with a little laugh, “so I’ll be at Promise Lodge Monday. Okay?”
A gasp escaped her as she glanced at the calendar on the wall beside the phone. “This coming Monday?” Rosetta demanded. “With tomorrow being Friday—and Sunday being a preaching service—that only leaves two days for moving furniture and buying the paint and then doing the special work you’ve asked for. Maybe you should figure on painting those clouds and the mixed shades of pink yourself.”
“But—but I’ll be working in my bakery tomorrow and Saturday,” Maria protested. “From the way Amos and Monroe talked, I thought they wanted to work on my apartment right away.”
Rosetta placed her hand over the receiver, meeting the curious gazes of the ladies at the kitchen table. “Oh, but I’ve got a story for you when I hang up,” she said softly. She collected her thoughts and made a quick decision. “Tell you what, Maria, I’m going to leave the painting schedule up to Amos and Monroe. If they don’t get finished before Saturday night, you’ll have to move in and either finish it yourself, or keep your furniture in the middle of the rooms until they have a chance to do it.”
Maria’s sigh sounded like a whine. “So does this mean they won’t help me move in on Sunday? It’s the only day off I’ve got.”
Rosetta’s eyes widened. “I guarantee you that even if they weren’t preaching, they wouldn’t be doing that sort of
work on the Sabbath,” she replied firmly. Where were Maria’s priorities? From what she knew of Truman’s Mennonite fellowship, they didn’t condone such work on Sunday, either. “We hold our church service in the lodge, so we won’t want you and your friends tromping in and out with your furniture that day, either. Maybe you need to take a day away from your bakery, Maria. Or maybe you need to stay in your house as long as you need to, instead of letting your renters set your schedule.”
Maria sighed again. “I’ll ask Truman to help me. He’s got those big trucks . . .”
Rosetta knew better than to speak for Truman. This move was apparently between him and Maria—which suddenly made her ready to be finished with this conversation. “Figure it all out and we’ll see you when you get here,” she said. Then something struck her. “By the way, how will you be getting back and forth from Promise Lodge to your bakery until you’ve moved your building?”
“Oh, I have a car,” Maria replied matter-of-factly. “I’ll be looking for some barn space to park it in, too, so I don’t have to scrape the windshields when it snows. I’ll have to leave for work before three each morning, you see.”
“You’ll have to work that out with folks who have barns,” Rosetta said quickly. “See you when you get here.”
As she hung up, Rosetta didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She returned to the table with her tablet so she could repeat Maria’s demands—but first she took a big sip of her cocoa. Even though it had gotten cold, the rich chocolate soothed her.
Beulah and Ruby Kuhn leaned toward her, their eyes wide. “You’re going to tell us what-all she said, jah?” Ruby asked.
“You’re not looking any too happy—even though you told her she’d be paying you six hundred bucks up front,” Beulah remarked. “What made you decide you needed a deposit, Rosetta? You said no such thing to us when we came here.”
Rosetta smiled as she reached for Beulah and Ruby’s hands. “You weren’t making demands and expecting to be treated like queens, either,” she replied with a chuckle. She recounted Maria’s painting instructions, and then told them about her proposed moving schedule.
“Well, now,” Ruby murmured, raising her eyebrows at her sister. “Why didn’t we think to ask for blue ceilings with fluffy white clouds painted on them?”
Beulah and the rest of the women laughed. “Because I like to think my feet are firmly planted on God’s gut earth, so my head’s not floating around up in the clouds,” she replied. “Think of the sunburn you’d get, on top of being considered an airhead.”
Rosetta helped herself to a cookie, finding a smile. “Jah, that says it all, Beulah. Remind me not to get my nose out of joint when Queen Maria shows up with her furniture, will you? Getting her and Leola settled might make for more excitement than we’re used to.”
Chapter Ten
Monday afternoon, Monroe sat down in the phone shanty and sighed tiredly. He’d spent all day Friday and Saturday alongside Amos, Truman, and Marlin, painting Mattie’s former apartment the way Maria wanted it—as well as painting Leola’s room the same shade of deep blue with puffy white clouds. Thanks to the way the four of them had worked together—and used some imagination while painting ceiling clouds and pink walls that got lighter as they approached the ceiling—the rooms were ready. Truman and a couple of his employees were going to load Maria’s belongings this afternoon. Everyone seemed excited that she would soon be opening her bakery at Promise Lodge, even though her choice of paint—and the fact that she drove a car—were making folks curious about what sort of resident she’d be.
Monroe was pleased that he’d made it through the Sunday service and the common meal afterward without any questions from folks about Leola. He’d managed to peel her away when she’d wanted to cling to him, and he’d quieted a couple of her outbursts before they escalated into shouting matches. He owed Rosetta, Christine, and the Kuhn sisters a huge debt of gratitude for looking after Leola and giving her tasks to keep her busy. He’d also been pleased to see the red light blinking on the message machine this morning. Polly Duff had said she’d be waiting for his call at three o’clock.
As he collected his thoughts, Monroe dialed Polly’s number. He hoped Chester’s elderly sister could answer all the questions that had been bothering him since Leola had appeared.
“Hullo? Is this you, Bishop?”
Monroe smiled. Even though Polly Duff was way past eighty, she still got straight to the point. “It is, and it’s gut to hear your voice, Polly. How are you?”
“Well, I was fat and sassy until Chester got into a big fix last week,” she said with a rueful laugh. “He came here all a-fluster, sayin’ I had to keep Leola because they took Edna to a big hospital in Chicago—in a helicopter. Can you imagine? And here I am without so much as a phone number to get ahold of him.”
“Oh my, that’s not gut,” Monroe murmured as he found paper and a pencil in the drawer of the table. “What happened to Edna? And I assume Chester was going to go to the hospital to be with her?”
“Jah, he hired a driver. Week ago today, it was,” Polly said. “They might be there for a long while, as Edna’s ticker was so out of whack she all but died. They got her revved up again, but Chester thought she’d been dead for several minutes before the paramedics got to their place to revive her. To my way of thinkin’, the Gut Lord called Edna home and those medical folks shouldn’t have been tinkering with her.”
“I agree,” Monroe murmured. “And I can imagine Leola was in quite an agitated state while all this was going on with her mamm, and when her dat brought her to your place.”
“Agitated doesn’t cover it by half,” Polly blurted. “That girl was goin’ from room to room mutterin’ to herself and cryin’ as though she’d never been to my place. And then when I told her to take her pills, durned if she didn’t dump them all down the toilet.”
Monroe sighed. “I was afraid of that. Do you still have the bottles—or have any idea what she’s supposed to be taking?”
“Nope, she’d already ripped off the labels and wadded them up. I couldn’t get them unstuck enough to read them. And I can’t tell you the names of her doctors because Leola either doesn’t know or she won’t tell me.” Polly let out a frustrated sigh. “I was sure glad you called to say she’d found you, but truth be told I’m not sorry she ran off. That poor girl’s a holy terror, and I just can’t keep up with her. I’m grateful to God that Chester and Edna didn’t have any more.”
Monroe chuckled to himself. Polly Duff was a maidel with an opinion about everything, and she’d never been overly fond of children or men who expected their women to wait on them. “I left a message on Chester’s answering machine, but it sounds like he might be in Chicago for a while,” he murmured. “At least here, Leola has her own room in the lodge and several ladies to keep an eye on her when I’m not around. Sounds like she might be here longer than I thought. Who knows how long Edna will be in the hospital—or in a rehab facility?”
“Leola’s in a lodge? And you are, too?” Polly asked. “What sort of setup is that?”
Monroe explained about the three Bender sisters who’d bought the abandoned church camp, and told about painting Leola’s room a deep blue with clouds on the ceiling—which really got Polly going. He chatted for a few moments more and then remained in the phone shanty after he hung up.
You haven’t made this easy for me, eh, God? He opened the door to the brisk winter wind. It wasn’t as simple as hiring a driver and escorting Leola back to Illinois—not until Chet and Edna were home and able to keep track of her. As he walked down the road to the lodge, he was happy to toss more snowballs for Queenie, who’d followed him once again.
“Looks like we’re in for some snow, girl,” he said as he gazed up at clouds the color of elephants.
The dog yipped, gazing eagerly at him until he threw another snowball. Monroe went up the lodge steps and into the lobby. He was glad to see Rosetta restocking her display of goat’s milk soap and showing Leola the diff
erent kinds of bars that she stored in the drawers of the antique dresser.
When Leola saw Monroe, she rushed over to grab him. “Monroe, I missed you!” she cried. “I helped Rosetta wrap soap, and it smells so pretty—and she gave me a bar to use in my bathroom!”
As he gently pried her arms from around his waist, Monroe smiled gratefully at Rosetta. “We’re very blessed that Rosetta and your other new friends are taking such gut care of you, Leola,” he said. “I just talked to your Aunt Polly—”
“Oh!” Leola screwed up her face. “She’s so mean. And grumpy.”
Monroe wondered if he should continue, but he needed to give Rosetta a chance to better understand Leola’s situation. “Polly’s old, and her arthritis bothers her,” he explained softly. “She told me you tossed your pills down the toilet and wadded up the labels. How are you supposed to stay well if we don’t know what medications to get for you, Leola?”
Her pale face crumpled and she began to cry. “I don’t like those pills!” she wailed. “They taste yucky. And they make me feel funny.”
At the sound of Leola’s escalating distress, Christine and Phoebe came through the dining room, wiping their hands on their aprons. “Ah, Monroe, you’re back,” Christine said beneath the ruckus Leola was raising.
Phoebe walked up to Leola and gently grasped her shoulder. “You know what, Leola? We’re making pies and we could really use your help.”
“Pies?” Leola hiccupped, considering this information. “What kind?”
“Rhubarb and cherry so far,” Phoebe replied. “And we could make a chocolate pie in a graham cracker crust, if you’d like. Does that sound gut?”
Leola blotted her tears with her sleeve. “Jah, I love chocolate pie,” she replied in a shaky voice. “Can we make one now?”
Monroe said a quick prayer of thanks and asked God to bless Phoebe for being so perceptive and kind as she took Leola’s hand and led her to the kitchen. He looked from Christine to Rosetta. “Just found out that Leola’s mamm’s in the hospital in Chicago with serious heart problems. No idea when she’ll be able to come home—and Polly didn’t know anything about Leola’s medications or who prescribed them, because Leola flushed them,” he murmured. “I can’t thank you ladies enough for looking after her.”
Weddings at Promise Lodge Page 9
